


Satisfied

by ASongofIceandHope



Series: Who Tells Your Story: Jonsa Song-Fics [3]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sad Daenerys, Weddings, jonsa, song-fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 05:24:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11822115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASongofIceandHope/pseuds/ASongofIceandHope
Summary: Daenerys stands by and watches as Jon marries Sansa, making her the future queen. As happy as she can see Jon is, she knows deep down that she will never be satisfied.*inspired by "Satisfied" from Hamilton: An American Musical*





	Satisfied

**Author's Note:**

> If you're looking for Dany bashing, this isn't it. She's a bit jealous, perhaps, but mainly she's just sad.

If Daenerys Targaryen had felt like a foreigner during her time in the North, the feeling had never been stronger than the night she stood in the godswood watching her nephew marry another woman. She stood among the lords of the North, curious about how a northern wedding ceremony would work. Every single one of their customs seemed strange to her, and she felt like it would be wise of her to learn more about them. And she wanted to see what Sansa Stark would look like at her third wedding. That had piqued her curiosity the most. The girl had been married just as many times as she herself, but Sansa had won the ultimate prize: the hand of her cousin, Jon. 

He looked the part of the King in the North as he stood beneath the weirwood tree. Snowflakes fluttered around him, landing in his hair and on his eyelashes, making him seem like something out of a song. Jon clutched a grey cloak in his hands with the sigils of House Stark and House Targaryen intertwined; a symbol he'd begrudgingly allowed to be created. Daenerys had overheard him arguing against using a wedding cloak at all, and Sam and Davos had convinced him otherwise. 

The crunching of feet through the deep snow leading to the godswood made everyone turn and watch as Sansa walked arm-in-arm with her sister. 

She looked… resplendent. Her gown was made of a heavy ivory brocade, and her hair was pinned up with silver hairpins that had little pearls on the ends. Daenerys almost forgot the irony of Sansa Stark wearing a maiden’s cloak when she saw the fine embroidery, and she vaguely realized that it was likely made by Sansa herself. The cloak was a very light grey, and lined with equally light fur. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, but a small smile graced her rosy lips. 

Daenerys looked back at Jon, and he looked nothing short of relieved. And why wouldn't he be? He'd won the most beautiful woman in the North, and had solidified his claim to the region just in time for the war against the Others. 

“Who comes? Who comes before the gods?” Jon asked, and the lords all became silent. 

Arya smiled at the man she still called brother and turned to Sansa before looking back at him. “Lady Sansa of House Stark comes here to be wed,” she declared. “A woman, grown and flowered, trueborn and noble, she comes to beg the blessings of the gods.” Sansa squeezed her hand. “Who comes to claim her?”

Jon stepped forward and Daenerys felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle at how earnest and beautiful a northern wedding was. “Me,” Jon answered. “Jaehaerys of Houses Stark and Targaryen, King in the North and Rightful Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. I claim her. Who gives her?” Daenerys raised a brow at how simply he presented his true name and his true titles. It seemed strange to her, since she was always announced with so many titles. 

“Lady Arya of House Stark, sister of the bride,” Arya smiled. “Lady Sansa, will you take this man?”

Daenerys tried her best not to let her feelings betray her as Sansa stepped toward Jon. She could see how her lovely blue eyes were shining with tears. Never in her time at Winterfell had Daenerys expected to see Sansa Stark cry; the girl had skin like steel. Rumor had it that she had watched her former husband, Ramsay Bolton, get eaten alive by his own hounds. It wasn't the same as dragons, but Sansa Stark could get revenge in creative ways. 

“I take this man,” Sansa murmured as she took Jon’s hand. 

The godswood was so still and quiet, save for the rustling of leaves in the icy winter wind. And it was in that moment that Daenerys realized that Jon marrying Sansa was both a blessing and a curse. He would never pay her a second glance now that he had the northern beauty in his bed, but their union strengthened their allies and would guarantee Jon would be around. She would get to keep those brooding, serious eyes in her life. 

When the two rose to their feet and Jon replaced her stunning maiden’s cloak with the newer one bearing a new sigil, the lords all cheered respectfully for their king. Sansa and Jon returned to the great hall arm-in-arm. A small amount of reserves had been spared to hold a modest wedding feast in their honor. 

But who needed a lavish wedding feast with hundreds of courses when the bride and groom looked like Sansa Stark and Jon Snow? They looked upon each other with such affection that it was as if Jaehaerys I and his Good Queen Alysanne had returned from their ashes.

Daenerys sat with Tyrion at a table just a touch lower than the head table. That table was reserved for the Starks and Jon’s counselor Davos. Even the silent and solemn Brandon Stark had a small, absentminded grin on his face as the lords present toasted to their king and queen. Daenerys noticed that Jon was drinking every toast with them. He was nervous. She didn't know why; it was no secret that Jon and Sansa had lain together before the wedding. Nevertheless, he was starting to get in his cups. And if the looks Sansa was giving him were any indication, she clearly realized it too. 

“Our future king and queen,” Tyrion mused as he stared into his cup of ale. “If we all live to see the end of all of this.” Daenerys ignored him and rose to her feet, gripping her goblet of wine tightly. 

“A toast to the bride and groom!” she shouted. “May their union be a small glimmer of light in the long night to come.” Jon was expressionless as she spoke, but Sansa put on a small, polite smile for propriety’s sake. “And may you both always be satisfied.” 

“Your grace…” Tyrion muttered in a warning tone.

Daenerys said nothing more, and her toast was soon forgotten as the lords began to call for the bedding. It was a tradition Daenerys was surprised the two were following through with considering Sansa’s rumored experience with such things, but as the girl’s laughter filled the hall as the lords hoisted her up and carried her from the hall, Daenerys frowned deeply. A few of the remaining wildlings carried Jon out after her, and he chuckled and joked with them as they disappeared. She and Tyrion were the only two remaining in the hall, and she looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

“You didn't want to watch the bedding?” she inquired. Tyrion shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. 

“I've seen one too many beddings in my life,” he replied. “They're all the same. If the bride is a virgin, she's wide-eyed and frightened. If the bride is not, she either has the decency to pretend or takes her new husband without batting an eye. Rather boring, really. I never quite understood the fascination.” With another glance at Daenerys, he got to his feet. “You are his aunt; your absence will be noted by the lords.” Daenerys said nothing and drained her goblet of its contents.

“I don't want to see it.”

Because she knew as much as Jon would be satisfied, she would never be as satisfied as when he was hers.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This is the last of my song-fic series.


End file.
